Drifting in the Mire

Solomon Kane’s consciousness flickered like a dying flame. He felt weightless, his body adrift in cold water, surrounded by an eerie silence. The scent of damp earth and decaying vegetation filled his nostrils.

Then—awareness struck.

He wasn’t just floating. He was drifting.

His eyes snapped open, taking in the world around him. Murky swamp water stretched in all directions, tangled roots and moss-covered trees looming above. The faintest glimmer of moonlight revealed the slow ripple of movement beneath the surface.

Something large was watching him.

A pair of glowing yellow eyes surfaced a few feet away.

A black caiman.

Solomon cursed silently.

He had never liked crocodilians—alligators, crocodiles, caimans—killers unchanged for millions of years. He tolerated Indian gharials, but only because those thin-snouted creatures stuck to fish.

But this?

This monster could crush him with a single bite.

His muscles tensed, his heartbeat steady despite the danger. He knew one thing: panic meant death.

The caiman inched closer, water rippling around its massive form. Solomon remained perfectly still, assessing his surroundings. There—hanging vines. A possible escape.

One shot. One chance.

The caiman lunged.

Solomon moved.

His hand snatched a vine, and with a desperate heave, he pulled himself up just as those powerful jaws snapped shut where his legs had been. The water beneath exploded in fury as the caiman thrashed, denied its meal.

Solomon gritted his teeth, using every ounce of strength to climb the tree. His muscles burned, but he didn’t stop until he perched safely on a thick branch.

Below, the caiman glared at him, its yellow eyes filled with primal hunger.

Solomon exhaled, finally catching his breath.

Then, his gaze shifted to the jungle beyond the swamp.

Carlos’s tracks.

Deep, heavy footprints marked the mud. The massive bastard had been here recently. And if Carlos was alive, so was Jamie.

No sign of David.

Solomon didn’t linger. He moved—fast, silent, relentless.

The hunt was on.

---

A Gathering of Power

Far to the south, in the heart of Antarctica, the Elven Fortress stood as a shimmering bastion of ice and magic. Inside, a battle of words and power unfolded.

A grand chamber divided two factions—each seated on opposite sides.

On one side sat the Conservatives, led by Princess Dyana, the twin sister of Dyug von Forestia. She commanded the support of the High Elves and aristocrats, the ruling elite of the Elven Empire.

Opposing her were the Reformists, led by Royal Knights Commander Mary, the Queen’s chosen champion. She represented the commoner elves and the Royal Knights, who sought to redefine the empire’s hierarchy.

Tension crackled in the air.

No one had expected civility between Dyana and Mary.

Their history was steeped in hatred.

Dyana had always viewed her twin brother Dyug as her possession. Not even their mother, Queen Elara, was allowed to grow too close to him. To keep him bound to her, Dyana had even arranged for Dyug to be engaged to a High Elf aristocrat, ensuring he would always remain in her shadow.

Mary had been the one exception.

She had loved Dyug. And Dyug—for all his faults—had loved her back.

To Dyana, Mary was a threat—a rival who had dared to pull Dyug away from her influence.

Yet, as they sat across from each other now, their hatred was buried beneath cold restraint.

Something had changed.

Because both had seen the same vision.

A projection from the Lunar Church.

A mission from the Saint of Luna herself.

---

The Mortal Body of a Goddess

Most elves believed Goddess Luna resided solely in the Astral Realm, beyond mortal reach.

But the true elite—Royal Elves, High Elves of status, and the Lunar Priestesses—knew the truth.

A mortal incarnation of Luna existed in the Elven Empire’s capital. She was the Saint of the Lunar Church, veiled in mystery, neither fully divine nor fully mortal.

The Lunar Church remained neutral in politics, existing as a counterbalance to both the Royal Family and the Aristocracy.

Yet now, the Saint had spoken.

She had given a mission.

And that mission required both factions to unite.

But unity came at a price.

The Lunar Church’s favor could tip the balance of power in the Elven Empire. If Mary’s Reformists succeeded, Queen Elara’s new order would solidify. If Dyana’s Conservatives triumphed, the High Elves and aristocrats would crush the rebellion.

This was more than a mission.

It was a battle for the soul of the empire.

---

The First Exchange

Dyana’s violet eyes met Mary’s unwavering gaze.

“You have seen the projection,” Dyana said, her voice smooth yet sharp. “You understand what is at stake.”

Mary nodded. “I do.”

The gathered elves held their breath.

No insults. No open hostility.

For two women with a bloodstained past, even this cold civility was a shock.

Dyana leaned back, her expression unreadable. “Then we will see who carries out the Saint’s will better.”

A small, knowing smirk played on her lips.

Mary didn’t react. She simply replied, “Yes, we will.”

The chamber remained silent.

Two factions. One mission.

But beneath this fragile cooperation, an unspoken war had already begun.

Whoever succeeded would shape the future of the Elven Empire.

And both Mary and Dyana knew it.

---

The Chase Begins

Back in the South American jungle, Solomon Kane moved swiftly, following Carlos’s massive footprints through the tangled undergrowth.

The swamp was behind him, but the real danger was ahead.

Carlos was not just some brute.

He had survived battles that had killed lesser men. And if he had Jamie, he wasn’t running.

He was waiting.

Solomon didn’t hesitate.

He had already faced elves, mercenaries, the wilderness itself.

A rogue ex-military behemoth wasn’t going to stop him now.

He would find Jamie.

And if Carlos stood in his way?

Solomon Kane would finish what was started in Antarctica.

The hunt was far from over.

---

Carlos moved swiftly through the dense jungle, his massive frame barely hindered by the tangled undergrowth. Jamie was slung over his shoulder, her body weak but stirring. She let out a faint murmur, her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

"Mother...Aunt Sophia... David..." Her breath hitched, her consciousness flickering.

Then, just before slipping back into darkness, she whispered one last name—"Solomon..."

And then, she fell silent once more, her body going limp as unconsciousness claimed her again.

Carlos’s jaw tightened the last name uttered by now unconscious girl brought him memories of that legendary mercenary and sacred his soul but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. There was no telling who or what was following them.

---